<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Three Imaginary Boys by destielcasdean</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476854">Three Imaginary Boys</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielcasdean/pseuds/destielcasdean'>destielcasdean</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:55:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,345</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476854</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielcasdean/pseuds/destielcasdean</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A mix between AU and canon. </p>
<p>Sam and Dean have a monster-free childhood because John never decided to hunt after the yellow-eyed demon. However, it's only a matter of time before the supernatural world catches up with Sam and Dean and pulls them from their apple-pie life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>April 15th 2004</strong>
</p><p>It was an unseasonably warm night, the heat acted as a thick wooly blanket suffocating the urban landscape, muffling the city’s otherwise perpetual hustle and bustle. A smaller borough of the city had an eerie stillness as most of its inhabitants had sought refuge from the heat in their air-conditioned houses. The sun had only just begun to set, and the sky was still littered with streaks of burnt orange. The street lights had not yet been switched on.</p><p>A low rumble sounded in the distance, getting louder until it suddenly stopped as the man driving the car parked it two blocks away from the abandoned warehouse he was heading to. Against the backdrop of the urban grey concrete that made up most of the buildings in the city, his faded brown leather jacket and sleek vintage car gave him an anachronistic presence that would have signalled to the locals that something strange was afoot, if only the street and its adjacent blocks had not been completely deserted. The man stepped out of his car and muttered relief to himself that no-one would have to witness what was about to unfold as he opened the trunk of his car.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>Chapter 2<br/></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>November 2</b> </span> <span class="s2"> <b> <sup>nd</sup> </b> </span> <span class="s1"> <b> 1995</b> </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> All three members of the Winchester household dreaded the second day in November. In the week prior to the infamous date, the usual jovial domesticity felt in the house became more and more strained until November 1st, when </span> <span class="s1">the tension reached a boiling point. Yesterday, it had been a screaming match between Dean and his father, with his little brother Sam trying to diffuse the tension best he could until he gave up and hid in his room, forgoing his dinner. Dean and his father, John, were usually the picture of the traditional ideal of a father-son duo. Working on the Impala together on weekends, John handing Dean a beer with a wink, ranting to Sam together about the virtues of classic rock and teasing him for his 'mainstream pop music’. While Sam often resented Dean and John’s close relationship, especially since neither seemed to pay much attention to Sam when they were together, he hated it even more when they fought. Their argument had ended with Dean driving off with the Impala (something which John hated) and John slamming the front door with so much force that Sam felt his bed frame shake. Sam had gone to sleep that night feeling anxious about the animosity between his father and Dean that never failed to rear its ugly head the eve before the anniversary of his mother’s death. His last thought before drifting off to restless sleep was the image his mother’s sweet face. Not one conjured from his memory, as he had none of her, but the same face that he saw everyday in the picture frame sitting on the mantelpiece of the living room fireplace.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">...</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> John woke up with a hangover that made the skin of his face feel comically tight stretched over his skull. It had become a cynical tradition over the past twelve years, every morning of the anniversary of his wife’s death had been made blurry by his overzealous consumption of alcohol the night before. No matter how bad his hangover was, it never succeeded in overshadowing the intense grief he felt on this particular day. Just as he felt he had overcome the intense grief brought about by the anniversary of the year before, the next came around and brought him back to step one. He sat up in his bed, rubbing his bleary eyes, and sighed thinking of the unbearably emotional day that lay ahead of him. His eyes drifted to the bedside table farthest from him, to the picture frame that held the picture of him and Mary on their wedding day. Upon gazing upon her immortalised features, he felt a pang of guilt for the argument he had had with Dean the night before. Mary would have been disappointed in him for losing his cool and directing his anger at Dean for something as small as Dean misplacing a few tools in the garage.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> ‘I’m sorry, baby.’ He whispered as he examined the features in the photograph that he missed so much.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">...</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dean had not driven with any particular destination in mind, but at around midnight he saw the highway sign telling him that he was only a few miles outside of Sioux Falls.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> ‘South Dakota? Man, what a shit hole.’ He had muttered to himself before making a U-turn there and then and started to head back towards Lawrence. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> As he approached his home town, he felt his stomach drop. He did not want to be in that house right now. Not the house where his mother had been engulfed by flames on this day twelve years ago. The early-winter sun had not yet begun to rise. He wanted to continue driving but his eyelids were so heavy he was fighting himself not to fall asleep at the wheel. While a thrill-seeker, he was not one to drive dangerously because of such a mundane reason. Instead, he drove closer towards his neighbourhood but turned left instead of right when reaching the street the Winchester family home was situated on. He drove further up the street and turned the engine off after parking close to a suburban home that was near identical to his. Except this house had a whiter fence, and a near-pristine lawn that gleamed almost an unnatural neon green hue. He knew that if he rang on the doorbell he would be turned away and yelled at so instead he got out of the car and headed towards the window on the southwest corner of the house. The curtains were drawn, and it was too early for anyone normal to be awake so he picked up a few small stones that lined the gravel walkway around the back of the house. One by one, he threw the stones as delicately but as accurately as he could towards the window. After the fourth stone, a pale hand finally fumbled through the curtain to open up the window. A very groggy looking boy with a chaotic mop of jet-black hair looked down at Dean. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> ‘What the fuck, Dean?’ Cas’ voice was barely coherent with sleep.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> ‘Sorry, man… do you think I could come in? I don’t, uh… really want to go home right now.’ Dean replied.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Cas looked puzzled for a moment but an understanding expression came over his face after a beat and he closed the window. Cas was the only one of Dean’s friends that knew what significance this date held for the Winchesters, and he was the only person, except for Sam, that he could stand to be around when John’s mood soured and the entire house seemed enveloped by an all-consuming grief. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> A few minutes later Dean was standing in Cas’ room.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ </span>Cas had always been very blunt to ask Dean about how he felt, and was perhaps the only other person except Sam to get away with it without upsetting Dean.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> ‘I’ve been driving all night I just need some sleep,’ replied Dean.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> ‘Alright, just take my bed. I have some homework to do anyway.’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Dean snorted in response, not even Sam would think of studying at 6 am. He took off his boots and his too-big leather jacket, and crept into Cas’ rumpled bed while Cas sat down at his wooden desk on the opposite side of the room, turned on the small lamp on it, and pulled out several books from the backpack leaning against the foot of the desk. Cas spent the rest of the morning pouring over his math and geography assignments that were due later that day. From time to time, Cas looked up from his work to look back at Dean’s sleeping form on his bed and his stomach clenched. He knew his friend was hurting so much more than he let on– especially on a day like today. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>